Wednesday, February 25, 2009

How to Look a Fool

How to Look a FoolStep 1: In October/November, decide that since you haven't run regularly in seven years, you don't need all your long sleeve t-shirts. Get rid of all but two.

Step 2: In February, decide to run regularly. Get home from work at 5:30, but schedule dinner for 6:30. This means you have one hour to get dressed, stretch, run, cool down, stretch, wash up, and change for dinner.

Step 3: Frantically scan your room for running clothes. Since it's cold outside, you need good pants. Tear open every drawer, but fail to find the one pair of pants that qualifies. Decide to wear your old running tights from your freshman year of high school. Remember how Travis Whalen once wore them for a Captain Stock Market skit in social studies. Chuckle. Your running tights are bright red.

Step 4: Frantically scan your room for shorts to go over the pants. Settle on your bright blue racing shorts that you wore in middle school. They're short, but they're better than your cheer shorts with "Irish" written across the butt. Yes, you have those.

Step 5: Now for the top. Since you work out maybe twice per year, you only have two sports bras, and you've had both of them since you were in middle school. Pick one out, and remember how when you bought them you thought that they would do ok until you grew out of them. You never grew out of them. Sigh.

Step 5: Now it's time for your shirt. Tear your closet apart in search for your remaining two long sleeve t-shirts. Find the bright red one. Realize that your bright red t-shirt would completely hide your blue shorts, making you a Twizzler when combined with your bright red running tights. Decide that this is too much, even for you. Finally locate your gray shirt from 8th grade with the holes in the wrists, and put it on. You're looking awesome now.

Step 6: Now for the ears. Your gray headband ear cover thing is simply too loose. It will fall off. Go for your purple one instead.

Step 7: Gloves. You have one black glove, and you know you took the other one out of your purse and put it on the couch earlier in the day. Of course, it's not there now. You put on the black glove while you search for something, anything, to wear on your left hand. Briefly consider the muff that your fiance got you for Christmas, but, much like the red shirt, decide that it's too ridiculous. Instead, find an old blue mitten in the back of your closet. Put it on.

Step 8: Since you spent so long destroying your drawers, you don't have much time for your run. Cut down on stretching even though you know that's a bad decision. This doesn't make you look a fool right now, but just wait.

Step 9: Put your headphones in, and run with an iPod for the first time ever. "Hey! Music really does make this better!"

Step 10: Run on concrete, ignoring the fact that you always get shin splints when you run on concrete. Stupid. Also, run around town, you know, among the people.

Step 11: Get home. Stretch for about a minute. Change clothes. Let the salt sweat dry on your skin on your way out to dinner. Yuck.

Step 12: The next day, try to sit down without groaning. Fail. Let your shins remind you that they exist and they're angry. Curse stretching.

Did I ever tell you of the time I ran in pants I'd been proud to buy in Scotland?

The only problem? They were for cold weather or something - waterproof. Which means, breathless. Which means, I had sweat pouring down my legs while I ran around the IWU campus. Pouring. It was like Old Faithful. Or Niagara Falls.